oint which that counsel had
evidently been warned by him to avoid. I was assured of this by the way
Moffat failed to meet Arthur's eye, as he pressed on hastily, and in a
way to forestall all opposition.

"There are two ways of leaving your house for the city. Which way did
you take?"

"The shortest. I went through my neighbour's grounds to Huested Street."

"Immediately?"

"As soon as I could. I don't know what you mean by immediately."

"Didn't you stop at the stable?"

A pause, during which more than one person present sat breathless. These
questions were what might be expected from Mr. Fox in cross-examination.
They seemed totally unsuited to a direct examination at the hands of his
own counsel. What did such an innovation mean?

"Yes, I stopped at the stable."

"What to do?"

"To look at the horses."

"Why?"

"One of them had gone lame. I wanted to see his condition."

"Was it the grey mare?"

Had the defence changed places with the prosecution? It looked like it;
and Arthur looked as if he considered Mr. Moffat guilty of the unheard
of, inexplainable act, of cross-examining his own witness. The situation
was too tempting for Mr. Fox to resist calling additional attention to
it. With an assumption of extreme consideration, he leaned forward and
muttered under his breath to his nearest colleague, but still loud enough
for those about him to hear:

"The prisoner must know that he is not bound to answer questions when
such answers tend to criminate him.".

A lightning glance, shot in his direction, was the eloquent advocate's
sole reply.

But Arthur, nettled into speaking, answered the question put him, in a
loud, quick tone: "It was not the grey mare; but I went up to the grey
mare before going out; I patted her and bade her be a good girl."

"Where was she then?"

"Where she belonged--in her stall."

The tones had sunk; so had the previously lifted head; he no longer
commanded universal sympathy or credence. The effect of his former
avowals was almost gone.

Yet Mr. Moffat could smile. As I noticed this, and recognised the
satisfaction it evinced, my heart went down, in great trouble. This
esteemed advocate, the hero of a hundred cases, was not afraid to have it
known that Arthur had harnessed that mare; he even wanted it known. Why?
There could be but one answer to that--or, so I thought, at the moment.
The next, I did not know what to think; for he failed to pursue this
subject, and sim